Boston, March 14th 1932

Dear Mother,

June is dead. I feel like I have to write it down to believe it. She is gone. I can't help wondering if I could have done something differently. We were supposed to go to the theater that night. When I arrived, I saw her sitting on a bench with a man who stood up and left. I didn't know. I didn't understand. I didn't even notice that June's head was leaning a little on the side. I was so happy to see her. But then I saw her eyes closed. I called her, in vain. I reached towards her cheek with my hand, brushing her hair, and then I noticed the bite marks on her neck. I sat down beside her and took her in my arms. I don't know for how long. She was gone. If I had been there just a few minutes before, I could have saved her. She could still be alive. My love.

I feel so empty, mother. I can only feel the guilt and the rage. One day I'm going to find that vampire and I will kill him. I promise. She had agreed to marry me. This was what I wanted to tell you in this letter. But now, I can't forget the color of her skin when I found her. You told me when I was young that death was a very important part of an immortal life. I could not understand it at the time, even after Paul. But with every century, I understand better what you meant. I know that you would tell me otherwise but I feel that our immortality is a curse.

I'm going to move. I cannot stay in Boston anymore. Too many memories. Maybe I'll go to New York. I will let you know. Could you join me? I feel like I'm slipping and I think I need you.

Your son,

Ethan